Daffodil binoculars cup
the crispy
	yellow rice.
                	Twice,
candles pencil 
my jars
	into receipts.

Mats burn crystal windows
that the wind will eat.

	Greener flowers
          that jump
     and book
the sky
	will swim towards being.
	A crescendo

	stuck within the tube
	seeding the bird feed.

Brasso (con basso profundo)

Twisted water
	gives labels
                           of light

Black	         Flat

Swaying walls take flight:

Stone upon Stone upon Stone
Trees

never seen to dance dance
till quarter to me
	Yesterday still

it seems